


Can't Forget You

by Writcraft



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Breaking Up & Making Up, Car Accidents, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Injury Recovery, M/M, Money Worries, Romance, Secrets, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21798448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Nick wakes up in hospital and discovers he's lost several years of memories, including getting together—and breaking up—with Louis Tomlinson, the owner of the local café that Nick's being trying to pull for ages.As he tries to work out what went wrong, Nick falls in love with Louis all over again.
Relationships: Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 42
Kudos: 215
Collections: The Tomlinshaw Fic Exchange 2019





	Can't Forget You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunsetmog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/gifts).



> Dearest Mog. What an absolute gift your Tomlinshaw is to the fandom, I was so thrilled to be able to write for you. I took your prompt about secrets and started pondering about the secrets people like Nick and Louis might keep from one another in a relationship so it’s not quite a secret relationship, more secrets within a relationship. I hope you enjoy the approach. 
> 
> **Note on warnings:** Despite the somewhat ominous note about secrets and the breaking up tag, there is no infidelity and I can promise a very happy ending for our boys.

_I can't forget you_  
_I've got these memories of you_  
_I can't forget you_  
_I'll always be loving you_  
  


Patsy Cline – I Can’t Forget You

 _Wake up_. 

At first Nick thinks he’s dreaming again. One of the strange ones he’s been having lately with bright lights, burning rubber and the sound of his mum crying. He must have been sleeping off a monster hangover because he can only remember dreams, like the one where Stormzy inexplicably visited Radio Yorkshire with arms full of pizza for the crew. He performed a weird but brilliant mash-up of Vossi Bop and that song everyone loves from _Frozen_. 

There are others that leave Nick scrambling, trying to claw his way out of the night and into the morning. Those are the stealth dreams that start out good and then take a turn, like the one where he goes for a walk in the middle of nowhere with Pig and Stinky by his side. The open park turns to dense woodland and the dogs run off to chase a squirrel. When Nick tries to find them, he can’t. He can still hear them barking but they’re always somewhere just out of reach. 

_Wake up. Wake up_. 

A hand squeezes his. It’s warm, firm and the touch is achingly familiar. Nick squeezes back. 

_Hold on, Grim. Hold on tight._

“Eileen! I think he’s awake.”

It sounds like Louis, even though that’s impossible. Louis wouldn’t be holding Nick’s hand. He owns the greasy spoon— _Tommo’s_ —that’s nowhere near work. Not that Nick tells Louis that. He pretends it’s perfectly normal to take a half-hour diversion just to have beans on toast and annoy Louis Tomlinson on the daily.

Nick and Louis aren’t at the hand-holding stage, more’s the pity. Louis makes Nick coffee in the morning and writes ‘Dick’ or ‘Nicholas’ on the side of his cup, pretending they’re in a Starbucks. _Service with a smile_ he says, sharp and gorgeous. Nick’s spent so much money on coffee in his rubbish attempts to get off with Louis-The-Fit-Barista it’s a wonder he hasn’t turned into a weak Americano by now.

“Nick, oh _Nick_. Can you hear us, love?”

His mum’s back, brushing Nick’s hair from his forehead. She calls him a bloody eejit which sounds about right. She sounds like she’s crying again.

 _Wake up. Wake up. Wake up_.

Nick opens his eyes and breathes in a lungful of air.

*

Nick helps himself to a particularly delicious piece of sushi from Harry’s plate, because people who have been in hospital for a month are allowed to take liberties.

“How’s your leg?” Harry pushes the plate across the table, his concerned expression suggesting he would give Nick the entire contents of YO! Sushi if he could. 

“Fine,” Nick lies. In truth he’s knackered trying to walk on crutches and the uncomfortable ache that’s been niggling all afternoon has turned into a sharp, stabbing pain. “I’m well up for this Junkyard Golf place after.”

They’re in Manchester doing the pretend to be rich celebrities thing where they go to fancy shops like Gucci and Louis Vuitton and try on clothes they can’t afford. 

Shopping trips with Harry are familiar, which is exactly what Nick needs. They came before what he’s taken to calling the Patsy Cline years in homage to his Aunty Karen’s favourite song ‘I Can’t Forget You.’ It’s supposed to be funny, because Nick _has_ forgotten. The last few years of his life, give or take.

The Patsy Cline years are the empty, hollow space between the last thing Nick remembers and the car crash. Considering some idiot in an Audi ploughed into Nick’s trusty little Ford Fiesta on the M6, it could have been a lot worse than aches and pains, a stiff leg and some misplaced memories, but a lot can happen in a few years. A lot that Nick needs to remember, and quickly.

Because thinking about it for too long make him want to cry, Nick arms himself with his Patsy Cline joke and hopes his forced laughter doesn’t make him look like a weird, sad clown. 

“Has any of this helped?” Harry looks hopeful, as if the wasabi and Avocado Nigiri might miraculously coax Nick’s memory back.

“I still don’t remember anything, if that’s what you’re asking.” Nick waves his chopsticks at Harry. “I’m trying to get used to you with short hair.”

“It’ll come back,” Harry promises. Nick isn’t sure if he means the memories or the hair. 

“Maybe.” Nick shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter one way or another. “That’s what the doctors say.”

Focusing on the temporary part of temporary amnesia helps Nick not to panic. He’s not sure exactly what _temporary_ means as none of the doctors seem able to offer any kind of reassuring timeframe, or a cast iron guarantee that his memories will come back at all, but it offers a ray of hope that he hasn’t lost those years for good.

“Have you spoken to Louis?” Harry’s voice is quiet, his question tentative. 

“No.” Nick pushes his plate away, his appetite dwindling. “I haven’t heard anything, not even a text telling me what a dickhead I am. I know he’s got my new number. Mum gave it to him.”

Nick thinks back to the moment in the hospital when he opened his eyes to find Louis peering at him, his breath smelling faintly of Aquafresh and cigarettes. _Louis_. The boyfriend Nick apparently gained and lost during the Patsy Cline years. He remembers being friends with Louis—and fancying him rotten—but he doesn’t remember the loved-up bliss that followed before everything went to shit. 

For some inexplicable reason Nick finished things shortly before the crash. Exactly why he did so is a complete mystery to everyone, apart from Louis. As far as Nick’s concerned, Louis is the fit, lovely bloke from the local café that Nick’s been trying to pull for months. He can’t remember the good bits or the bad bits. He hasn’t the foggiest why he would end a relationship that _put a smile on your face at last_ , according to Eileen. She likes Louis. Potentially more than Nick, if the frown and the way she dabs her eyes with a hanky when his name comes up is anything to go by.

All Nick knows is the little he has from an awkward conversation at the hospital, when Louis mumbled something about London and Nick panicking over commitment. Those parts sounded believable enough, but when Louis finished with a triumphant _then you dumped me for wearing one of your jumpers_ Nick wasn’t convinced. The more Nick mulls it over, the more he’s certain Louis told the story wrong. Nick knows he’s a twat sometimes, but he’s not that much of a twat.

Louis left the hospital after giving Nick a bunch of daffs, a tight smile and a huffy _see you around dickhead, glad you’re still alive_. He disappeared in a flash of Adidas and fake Burberry and Nick hasn’t seen him since. That was over a month ago.

“I still can’t believe it ended over a jumper.” Harry shakes his head sadly. “You were so smitten.”

“I wasn’t _smitten_ , Styles, I’m not a nana.” Nick rolls his eyes. “Anyway, the jumper story’s bollocks. You’ve borrowed enough of my clothes to know that.”

“Do you remember what happened, then?” Harry looks hopeful.

“I don’t need to remember to know it’s crap.” Nick huffs. “I’m not that much of a knob, whatever Louis says. Dumped him over a jumper, my arse. I’ve got half a mind to go to the caff and tell him as much.”

“He might not appreciate that, Grim.” Harry winces. “I dunno what happened with you two in the end, but I know how much how much he liked you. It can’t be easy knowing you don’t remember any of it.”

Setting the record straight is just Nick’s cover for the fact he’s desperate to see Louis. When he found a photo in his house of Louis beaming proudly, it set him off like watching _Titanic_. The unexpected intensity of the emotions he’s been grappling with over the last month have only been matched by Nick’s fiercest moments of grief. There’s a weird ache in his heart and he spends listless nights scrolling through the Tommo’s website, listening to Whitney and trying to remember something, _anything_. 

It’s all so strange and fucked up, but if the Louis-shaped hole in Nick’s life is anything to go by, whatever Nick and Louis had it meant something. It meant a lot. Ever since he got home from the hospital Nick’s been moping around, going half mad missing a boyfriend he doesn’t even remember having. 

“I’ve got to see Louis at some point. I could ask him over, have a chat. Tell him it’s part of the therapy or summat,” Nick suggests. 

“Don’t lie to him.” Harry pushes his hair back from his forehead. It promptly flops back down, refusing to stay in one place. Harry has extra bouncy hair these days. Even with short hair he has the air of a Disney prince about him. “But you should ask him over. Doesn’t he still have all his stuff at yours?”

“Yeah.” Nick pulls a face. From what people have told him, Louis had practically moved in before Nick inexplicably went to London for three months, a period which has been completely erased from his mind. The idea that Nick was living with someone is peculiar to say the least. His most serious relationships typically had a three-month shelf life and even sharing a tent with boyfriends at Glastonbury used to make him claustrophobic.

“You know what’s weird.” Nick leans forward, making sure the nosy lady sitting next to them doesn’t overhear. “We had sex. A lot, probably. I don’t remember even kissing him and he knows what I look like naked. It’s dead unfair.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “When you do speak to him, I wouldn’t lead with that. Ask about your first date or something. Don’t make it awkward.”

“I’m known for making it awkward, Harold.” Nick’s takes a piece of sushi and chews it gloomily. “It’s my specialty.”

His leg gets worse and even trying on the new Prada loafers doesn’t help lift Nick’s mood. They decide Junkyard Golf will have to wait and by the time he gets home to the dogs, Nick’s already pulled up Louis’ number.

It takes him another hour before he finally decides to call.

*

“Evening.” A week after their stilted conversation on the phone, Louis turns up on Nick’s doorstep an hour later than agreed. He’s clutching a chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle. “Are you going to let me in, then?”

“Dinner for one, is it?” Nick lets Louis inside, taking his coat from him and hanging it in the hall.

“Haven’t eaten yet. It’s late.” Louis shrugs and fusses Nick’s dogs who are in danger of wagging their tales right off, Pig’s low whine and clattering paws indicating how much she’s missed Louis. After kicking his trainers off and leaving them in an untidy pile, Louis heads for the kitchen. “We had an issue with the fryer.”

“All go at Tommo’s.” Nick grins at Louis and receives a huff of aggravation in response. “I’d have cooked.”

“It’s fine.” Louis’ cheeks are pink from the cold air outside and he fiddles around with the kettle, opening the lid of his Pot Noodle and going straight for the cutlery drawer. _He knows what he’s doing_ , Nick realises. _He knows where everything is_. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise—Louis was obviously at Nick’s all the time—but it’s still weird seeing him treat the place like home. Nick wonders how many times Louis came over after work, making himself Pot Noodles or cups of tea. A fair bit he assumes, from the Yorkshire teabags and Rice Krispies in the cupboard. There’s so much Nick doesn’t know but even with the lost time that stretches between them, Louis isn’t a stranger to Nick. There’s an odd sense of comfort seeing him muddle around the kitchen, as though he never left. It makes Nick hopeful that the memories are still there, like old photographs in a locked chest. He just needs to find the key.

“We going to stand around in the kitchen all night?” Louis interrupts Nick’s thoughts and carefully puts the lid back over his Pot Noodle, watching it with a frown. For someone who owns a café, he doesn’t half make it look like instant noodles require Michelin starred level attention. 

“’Course not.” Nervous for reasons he can’t explain, Nick leads Louis into the living room. After looking at the armchair—Pig and Stinky have curled themselves up on it, snoring softly—Louis reluctantly sits next to Nick at the opposite end of the sofa. He tucks into his Pot Noodle, his gaze fixed blankly on the dogs.

“Any of it starting to come back?” Louis takes another mouthful of noodles.

“Nope.” Nick glances at Louis, oddly endeared by his Pot Noodle eating. “It’s why I wanted to see you. I thought you could help fill in the gaps.”

“Yeah.” Louis shrugs, his lips pressing tightly together. “Suppose I could.”

“I remember you,” Nick says. “Not all of it, obviously. But I remember how it was before anything happened.”

Before the Patsy Cline years, Nick and Louis would spend hours together after the café closed, talking about life in the North, Nick’s job on the small local radio station and his one mad year in London doing a set design course at Central St Martin’s. 

There’s a lot Nick remembers but then it all just stops. He’s still in that butterflies in the tummy stage of fancying someone rotten, but for Louis all those _what ifs_ have been answered, the delicious tension between them probably long gone by now. Nick can’t deny he wants Louis as much as he ever did, but maybe pre-crash Nick made the right call. It might have been shit, they might have been incompatible. Maybe Nick was right to pull away. He just doesn’t know.

“There’s plenty that happened between then and now.” Louis doesn’t elaborate and Nick resists the urge to roll his eyes. Getting Louis to talk is like getting blood out of a stone.

“Didn’t expect to see you at the hospy,” he says at last after the silence becomes awkward.

“Wanted to see you were okay,” Louis mumbles around a mouthful of noodles. “But you’re fine. Apart from that stupid big head of yours making you forget what a twat you were. Seems pretty convenient if you ask me, mate.”

“Well it’s not.” Nick glares. “It’s no fun, this. I can’t even work on the radio until I’m caught up on the charts and current affairs. I’ve missed so much—”

“You can say that again,” Louis interrupts.

“I’ve missed so much,” Nick repeats, pointedly. “They’re worried I’m going to end up saying something weird, have listeners calling in wondering why Radio Yorkshire still thinks Lean On is a massive summer hit.”

“Lean On?” Louis frowns.

“The Major Lazer one.” Nick stares at Louis. “Seriously?”

“Haven’t a clue what you’re on about.” Louis shrugs. “Neither would anyone else. You were always good at the radio. I dunno why they’ve taken you off air. It’s just talking.”

“Not just talking.” Nick pulls a face. “I don’t know half the new artists, everything’s changed. I didn’t even know about Brexit.”

“Lucky you,” Louis mutters. “I wish I didn’t know about Brexit either.”

“I didn’t know who the Prime Minister was until I saw the news,” Nick continues. “I thought it was a joke at first.”

“It’s still a Tory. You didn’t miss much.” A flicker of concern crosses Louis’ face and he looks at Nick more closely. The change of topic isn’t a surprise. Louis’ never been one for sitting around and talking politics. “Does it hurt?”

Nick decides not to tell Louis that his entire body is creaky and slow, like he’s had a heavy weight dropped on it that hasn’t been properly lifted. He’s off the crutches thankfully, but he’s not back to his old self just yet. He hates mooching around the place without his usual mornings at the gym or the long runs he used to take in the park. It’s exhausting just walking the dogs, these days. Baby steps, his mum keeps saying. It’s driving Nick barmy. 

“It’s not too bad.” Nick shrugs. “I’ll be a bit slow on my feet for a while and I get proper nasty headaches. Still, it could have been worse. It’s a miracle I got off as lightly as I did, according to the doctors.”

“Is me being here a good idea?” Louis lowers his Pot Noodle, frowning at Nick. “It might not be good for that stupid head of yours.”

Despite Louis’ words, his tone is thick and fond. His obvious concern leaves a smile tugging at Nick’s lips.

“It’s fine. I need to try and work out what the fuck happened during the Patsy Cline years. I’d say you know more than most.”

“Probably.” Louis gives Nick a small grin, his eyebrows raised in question. “The Patsy Cline years?”

“ _I can’t forget yoooou_ ,” Nick croons. The off-key rendition makes Louis wince, even though he’s polite enough not to tell Nick to shush. Louis has a lovely voice. They did karaoke together once with Harry, Niall and Liam. Nick was the only rubbish singer. He said the rest of them should form a band. “It’s Aunt Karen’s favourite song. It’s a joke.”

“Ha ha,” Louis replies drily. “Good lass, Aunty Karen.” Louis takes an approving forkful of his noodles. “Best sausage rolls in Yorkshire. Even better than Greggs.”

“Yeah. The best.” The reminder that Louis knows Nick’s family makes his chest ache, and he shifts on the sofa, trying to get a little closer to Louis. He sucks in a breath when a sharp pain in his leg makes him wince. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Louis mutters. He puts down his Pot Noodle and pulls a chair close to the sofa, plumping a cushion on it. “Put your leg up. Stop being a dickhead.”

There’s something about Louis taking care of him that makes Nick warm all over, and he dutifully puts his leg up even though he’s not sure elevating it does much good. It certainly doesn’t do any harm, he supposes. 

“What do you remember about me?” Louis picks his Pot Noodle up again, drinking some of the liquid straight from the pot. It’s ridiculously charming in a disgusting sort of way. 

“We were friends. Lots of long chats after closing time. I was trying to pull you, I reckon.”

“You were?” A small smile plays over Louis’ lips, as if he didn’t already know. “You were always in the caff.”

“Yeah.” Nick swallows, a peculiar lump rising in his throat. “It was nowhere near work, like I pretended. I used to come in just to see you, took me half an hour out of my way every morning.”

“Not just the morning,” Louis murmurs.

“No.” Nick watches as Louis’ cheek works. “You’d make toasties. One night we got the voddy out. I told you about my grandpa and his snooker tournaments at that working men’s club they knocked down.”

“I remember.” Louis nods. “Sounded like a good lad, your grandpa.”

“He was.” Nick wracks his brains, thinking of other nights with Louis. The ones before the Patsy Cline years are sharp and bright, his mind full of them. It’s not difficult to pull up every single one. “I remember your mates. We went out with them a few times, did karaoke with Harry. We saw that band you like, the one that rips off all the Oasis songs.”

“You took the piss, which shows how much you know.” Louis snorts and has another aggressive forkful of his noodles. “That band just won a BRIT.”

“Good for them,” Nick replies. “The BRITs really must have gone downhill.”

“Give over.” Louis shakes his head, but he sounds amused.

“I thought you were fit,” Nick says. His voice is low and quiet. “I liked you. I remember that.”

Louis gives Nick a sharp look, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as if the confession is unexpected. He must have known how much Nick liked him. He’s not stupid. He’s quick-witted, thoughtful and kind. Nick remembers that, too.

“What’s the last thing you remember about me?” Louis doesn’t meet Nick’s eyes, staring down at his half-eaten Pot Noodle. He looks like he’s thinking about something.

Nick tries to pinpoint the last thing he can remember. He knows approximately when time stopped based on the reading he’s been doing to re-learn the last few years. Other than that, he’s never been great at keeping diaries and there are so many lost months, so many things that are just out of his grasp or fuzzy memories that haven’t fully formed yet. Because his memories of Louis are surprisingly plentiful, there are almost too many to know exactly which one came last.

“I think it’s the night I told you about grandpa.” Nick’s head is overloaded with choices but something about that night stands out even more clearly than the others. “There’s a lot I remember about us. I don’t know where it all falls only that there’s a lot missing.”

“Yeah, sounds like it.” Louis finishes his noodles with a couple of large mouthfuls. When he’s done, he puts the pot on Nick’s coffee table and stares straight ahead. “I remember that night. It’s when everything started, wasn’t it?”

“Was it?” Nick doesn’t remember something starting, not exactly, but thinking about that night fills him with warmth. That was the moment fancying Louis turned to something bigger, something that scared Nick half to death. “I wasn’t coming in for the coffee before then, Louis,” Nick says, softly.

“Oh.” Louis’ cheeks get pink and he looks as though he’s fighting back a pleased smile. “You always said that was the night you started to fancy me.”

“No.” Nick shakes his head, his chest tight. He hates that he didn’t give Louis the truth the first time. “Before then. Way before.”

“Then when?” Louis shakes his head quickly as Nick goes to answer. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It was different though,” Nick concedes. “That night things felt different.”

Louis looks confused which is fair because Nick’s being very confusing. He’s a disaster, honestly. It’s a wonder Louis came over at all.

“Different how?” Louis asks.

“It felt important,” Nick replies. “Like—” he stops and tries to find the words. “It was more than just fancying someone.”

“Oh.” Louis seems stunned into silence, leaning back on the sofa with a thud. “Well then.”

“Yeah.” Nick is itching to reach for Louis, but he holds himself back. He tries to change the subject to break the weird tension settling between them. “We said we’d go for a pint in that working men’s club of grandpa’s before they boarded it up. Too late for that, now. Mum says they’ve knocked it down.”

“Just going to put this away.” Louis stands abruptly, taking noodle carton into the kitchen. It seems uncharacteristic behaviour. Louis never seemed overly concerned with fussing over tidying around Nick in the past. To the contrary, Nick remembers Louis at the café leaving their glasses out with a tired _fuck it, the washing up can wait until morning_.

Nick watches as Louis make his way to the kitchen. He’s so fit, it makes Nick’s mouth water. With the physical distance and time between them, he’d almost forgotten how happy and horny being around Louis always used to make him feel. The fact Louis dressed particularly nicely in a lovely, soft jumper and jeans doesn’t make it any easier. It’s almost as if he wanted to make an effort for Nick. He’s got a bit more scruff around his chin and he looks tired, but otherwise he’s no different to the person Nick remembers. 

“What the fuck did you do, Grim?” Nick whispers to himself. “Why did you fuck it all up?”

Louis comes back into the living room, holding an old silver tankard in his hand. He settles next to Nick again and looks at the inscription on the tankard with a strange, wistful smile before handing it to him.

“We did go for that pint before they pulled that club down,” Louis says. “They gave you this. The old boys had tankards behind the bar for their pints. This was your grandpa’s. We gave him a right good send off.”

Nick swallows, turning the tarnished silver in his hands. His grandpa’s name is on the front and the name of the club. He can almost imagine people gathered around an old bar drinking ale before Nick was born, in the days when the town thrived off the mines and industry from nearby cities. 

“I didn’t even know this was in the kitchen.” Hot tears prick at the backs of Nick’s eyes. “I assumed I never got to go.”

“You did. I dragged you there.” Louis extracts his phone and pulls up a photograph, handing his mobile to Nick. 

“I wore _that_?” Nick winces at the sight of himself in an ostentatious silk shirt. It was a gift from Harry on the last Christmas Nick remembers. 

“I told them you did some fancy design course in London.” Louis laughs under his breath. “They thought you were a celebrity, like that tosser with the double-barrelled surname that puts up shit wallpaper in peoples’ houses. Everyone’s says it’s brilliant— _we always wanted neon artichokes on the wall, pet!_ —but you know they’re just waiting for filming to stop so they can kick him in the bollocks.”

Nick laughs at Louis’ impression. There’s something about the way Louis talks that’s more familiar than it should be, a niggling reminder of something good. Nick takes a proper look at the picture on Louis’ phone and his smile softens. He’s got a pint of ale in his hand and he’s standing proudly by the leader board which lists his grandpa as one of the snooker champions from previous years. He looks happy, gazing at the camera with a soft, fond look and a beaming smile.

“I bet you thought I looked like a right dickhead, showing up dressed like that.” Nick’s voice thickens, a wave of unexpected emotion hitting him. It’s his happy face, his shirt and his ridiculous quiff in the photograph but he can’t remember a bit of it. 

“You’ve done stupider things.” Louis smiles at Nick, open and warm. He’s honest. Nick remembers that, too. _You’ve done stupider things_ is Louis Tomlinson for _I like that shirt_. “It reminds me of—” Louis trails off and clears his throat, his cheeks turning dusky pink.

“Of what?” 

“The first time you fucked me.” Louis shrugs, his voice rough. “We went out for a nice dinner, that’s why you’re in a posh shirt. The food was shit and the cocktails were twelve quid a go, so we left and went to have a pint in your grandpa’s old club. It ended up turning into several pints and a few shots of whiskey. A right good time. We came here after.”

“Oh.” Nick looks at the photograph again, his head spinning. Thinking about being with Louis like that sends a pulse of arousal through his body which he tries to swallow back. At least he took Louis out for a nice dinner. He did some things right. “Did we go to that expensive place in town?”

“Yeah.” Louis gives Nick a small smile. “Closed down now. Probably because nobody wants to spend a tenner on beetroot and goats’ cheese.”

“I bet. Not much of a market for that here.” Nick smiles back, the room warm and comfortable. He holds Louis’ gaze for a charged moment, desperate to know how things went afterwards, the things they did. “I liked you so much,” he blurts out at last. “More than anyone in a long time. Where the fuck did it all go wrong?”

Louis’ shutters come down again and he looks away, rubbing his jaw. “You fucked off to London for three months and it wasn’t the same when you got back. Before you left you kept moaning on about how shit the North was. I just assumed you wanted to end up down South, eventually.”

“I hated London the first time.” Nick stares at Louis, trying to take his words in. “I don’t know about the second, but I can’t imagine wanting to live somewhere I was lonely and miserable.”

“You never said.” Louis’ voice is quiet. “You told me you had loads of friends at that arty farty uni of yours. People in music, in fashion. We talked about it all early on and you made it sound amazing. I didn’t think much of it until last year when you started going on about London again. The next thing I know you’re off doing some Radio One internship and I’m left here like some sort of glorified house-sitter, hoovering up dog hair.”

“Radio One?” Nick shakes his head slowly, his head starting to throb. “As if.”

“That’s what you went there for.” Louis frowns at Nick. “Don’t you have texts or photos or summat?”

“No.” The room swims and blurs before Nick’s eyes. Something doesn’t add up, he just wishes he knew what. He has the sinking feeling he wasn’t entirely truthful with Louis which means nobody knows what the fuck happened on Nick’s mysterious London trip. “I haven’t finished going through my emails yet. Couldn’t face it, with all those years of spam I never bothered deleting. I don’t have any of my photos or texts. My phone got smashed up in the accident and my contract was shit so I can’t get anything back. That’s why I’ve got a new phone.” He points at his pristine new smartphone. “This one’s on the cloud.”

“I told you to get a better phone, but you didn’t listen.” Louis rolls his eyes as if to say _typical_. “I suppose I could send you some photos.”

“If you like.” Nick contemplates Louis. “I just want to know. All of it, even the stuff that’s going to make me feel like a dickhead.”

“Ain’t that simple.” Louis’ jaw works. “You came back from London pissed off about something, but you never told me what. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Didn’t you visit me in London?” Nick tries to read Louis’ stony expression.

“Nah, mate. I don’t go places I’m not wanted.” Louis glares at Nick, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve got me caff to run, anyway. Can’t go swanning around fancy London when I’ve got your dogs to feed and plants to water. I hate watering plants.”

“I didn’t even come back on the weekend?” Nick’s stomach squirms uncomfortably. 

“Once or twice, but it was pretty shit and you always had stuff on.” Louis laughs, bitterly. “Nowt here for you, was there?”

“There was you,” Nick says, quietly. “I dunno why I wouldn’t have come back for you.”

“Neither do I.” Louis huffs and folds his arms with a scowl. “Probably scared you off saying I was thinking of selling the flat. That soon got you running for the hills.”

“You wanted to move—?” Nick stops, his question answered by Louis’ terse nod. _You wanted to move in here?_

Nick already knew from the way people talked and the unfamiliar items dotted around the place that Louis must have been practically living with Nick before it all ended. He knows enough of himself to see how he might have had a minor meltdown about the actual _living together_ becoming an official thing but he’s sure—positive—it would have passed. For all his protests about loving the single life, Nick hates being alone. He likes surrounding himself with friends and he’s sure in a serious relationship he’d want to be around someone all the time too. 

“Probably for the best. I wouldn’t want you snoring next to me every night anyway.” Louis doesn’t sound like he means it. “You could always ask your mate Henry about London. You never stopped banging on about him. I started to think you fancied him.”

“Henry _Holland_?” Nick snorts. Now he’s sure something’s up. “He’s a massive fashion designer. I wasn’t hanging around with him, are you mental?”

“I know who he is.” Louis’ voice is cold, his eyes glinting as he stares at Nick. “Then who were you hanging around with and why the fuck did you need to lie about it?”

“I don’t know.” Nick rubs his jaw, miserable. 

Nick had been hoping for answers from Louis but now everything seems even more confused and surreal. Nick knew Henry Holland when he first went to London for his miserable year as a student, but they never stayed in touch. He’s a big deal nowadays. Nick and Harry tried on some of his scarves on their last trip to Manchester. Nick likes to think he’s had a glow-up since uni and he can’t imagine Henry would even recognise him now. Plus, an intern at Radio One isn’t exactly going to miraculously get front row seats at London Fashion Week. There’s definitely something weird about the mysterious three months in London and Nick really needs to go through his emails or harass the mobile phone company about recovering his messages. Better still, he needs to bloody _remember_. 

“You’re were always out late at fancy industry parties, whenever I called there was stuff going on in the background.” Louis looks down with a frown. “I think it was too small for you, this place. Getting off with the bloke from the shit caff, being in the same town your family lived in for generations. You kept saying you thought there’d be more to life than talking about the flooding in the Dales on a local radio station that wouldn’t even let you play Kanye.”

Nick desperately wants the story to be a lie, but he’s fairly certain that part at least is true. He can hear himself saying it, moaning on about having been destined for the bright lights of the city. He goes through phases of pining for something different, but he never means it, not really. He’s always pretended London was a fabulous success when it was anything but. He’s just sorry he told the same tired old story to Louis.

What he can’t work out is why he ended up distancing himself from Louis. There’s too much that doesn’t add up and a lot of Nick’s London talk sounds like the false bravado he relies on when he’s having a particularly shit time of things. He shakes himself, because if he never told Louis the truth about London, he’s not going to solve that mystery now. 

“You said I dumped you over a jumper?” Nick winces at the thought, still hoping that’s an embellishment on Louis’ part.

“You got back from London and we went out to see a band in Leeds a few nights after. I spent most of the night at the bar with Payno. When I came over Nialler made a stupid comment about us being an old married couple, what with me in your jumper.”

“I wouldn’t have dumped you over that. Christ, Louis.” Nick’s head throbs and he shakes it, trying to clear the fog. “A fucking _jumper_? Harry’s always taking my stuff, even Eileen’s had a go with one of my—”

“Blouses?” Louis interrupts. He gives Nick a sharp grin.

“ _Shirts_ ,” Nick says with a glare. “I’m fine with people borrowing stuff. I wouldn’t have cared.”

Louis shrugs. “All I know is you were in a shit mood all night and Niall just made it worse. When we got back you said you needed space. We argued, I left and a week later, you had the crash.”

“Sounds like it was about a lot more than a jumper.” Nick rolls his eyes. “Are you always so bloody dramatic?”

“Oh, remember do you?” Louis snaps. After a minute the tension leaves his body and he leans back on the sofa like a deflated balloon. “I’d got my own stuff happening and I’d been acting up more than usual, thinking you wanted me out. It wasn’t just the jumper.”

“What stuff?” Nick asks, gently. He hates the thought of Louis going through something and not telling him about it—not that Nick’s one to talk.

“Doesn’t matter.” Louis glances at Nick. “If I didn’t tell you then, no point in bringing it up again now.”

“Okay.” Nick rubs his temple, his head aching. He knows better than to push. He needs to find out what he was keeping hidden before he starts demanding to know Louis’ secrets. “I don’t know what the fuck went on in London and I certainly don’t think I’m too big for this town for what it’s worth. And your caff isn’t shit. It’s your own business. You’ve done more than I have.”

“Not sure about that.” Louis looks at Nick a flicker of concern crossing his features, which Nick takes to mean he probably looks terrible. 

Nick can imagine exactly what happened when Louis suggested selling his flat. _You were scared_ , his brain whispers. _Break his heart before he breaks yours_. Nick never likes letting his partners—not that there have been any as serious as Louis apparently was—see the bad sides, the neurotics, the way he sometimes feels like he’s given up on his dreams. He was obviously hiding something from Louis and didn’t want to stick around waiting for it all to come out. Nick’s not a cheater as a rule so he can’t imagine he was hiding a torrid affair. It doesn’t fit with the way his heart’s been aching, the emptiness of something lost. He strongly suspects whatever happened in London was more to do with Nick himself than his relationship with Louis.

“You look like shit.” Louis sounds even more worried than before. “You’re not going to collapse on me like a twat, are you?”

“No.” Nick collects himself and he pulls the blanket on his sofa around himself, suddenly cold. “Please don’t go,” he says a little desperately. He wants to cling on to Louis and keep him close. “Not yet.”

“Okay.” Louis looks uncertain but eventually he reaches for the TV remote. “No more talking about this, though. Give your brain a rest. Watch the Kardashians.”

“I bet I’ve missed loads.” Nick swallows back another wave of panic and focuses on the telly.

“Yeah. You know what those Kardashians are like, they love to keep people talking. S’okay.” Louis’ voice is soft and comforting. “I’ll catch you up.”

When Nick wakes up later that night the house is empty, but Pig is snoozing on his chest and the blanket is tucked carefully around his body as if Louis wanted to keep him warm.

*

It takes forever but Nick finally manages to exhaust all local contacts who might know something about his mysterious three months in London. He speaks to every person he can think of—even asking if they heard about his trip at the local offy—and by the time he’s finished, Nick is even more convinced something weird is going on.

The stories people repeat back to Nick are similar but there are enough small differences that it bothers Nick. They're full of noticeable cracks and things that don't make sense. There’s an outlandish flair to his tales of London that doesn’t ring true, a shiny veneer like when someone says _it’s fine, it’s fine_ over and over, even when the world is crumbling around their ears. The things people tell Nick sound just superficial enough that it doesn’t feel as though he was doing anything he claimed. 

The mysterious gig with Radio One, for a start. There’s nothing in his emails about it, no formal letters or contracts. Even the work he said he was doing might sound perfectly believable to a casual listener, but Nick _knows_ radio and he knows Radio One better than any other station. He adores Annie Mac but the friendship they apparently forged in the work canteen reminds Nick of the dreams he had as a teenager, waiting for his moment in the spotlight.

With a frown, Nick carefully scrolls through his emails wishing he had some proper system to keep them organised. There’s a load of spam—as expected—but there’s nothing covering the three months Nick was in London. He has emails form Aunt Karen reminding him about a party for Eileen, emails from his mum, Louis, Harry. He’s even got an email from Niall, with a link to some golfing event in London as if Nick’s the sort who goes to golf-related events when there’s a whole city to explore. It’s as if Nick’s deleted all trace of anybody involved with London from his life _and_ his email account, which makes his stomach squirm anxiously. _It’s the kind of thing people who have affairs do_ , his brain niggles. _Hide all the evidence_.

“What the hell did you do?” Nick mutters. He clicks listlessly on the little bin on the side of his email page and finds an unread email from someone called Gillian. Frowning, he opens it.

_Are you ever going to bother emailing me back or do I have to come up North and drag you to Jack’s party myself????!!!_

Nick squints at the number in the email signature. The fact it’s a _Gillian_ and not a _Gordon_ is a plus. He’d still bet his house that he wasn’t seeing a bloke behind Louis’ back—especially not one called Gordon for fuck’s sake—but he’d bet Pig, Stinky and the whole of his worldly possessions that he wasn’t seeing a girl. 

Nick tries to gather his muddled thoughts and dials Gillian’s number with shaking hands.

“Hello?” Gillian sounds proper posh, but nice.

“It’s Nick,” Nick says, sheepishly. He hopes he doesn’t sound as frazzled as he feels. “Nick Grimshaw.”

“Grim? Where the hell have you been? Hang on, let me move somewhere quieter.” The phone crackles and then Gillian returns, clearer than before. “We’ve been worried sick.”

“You have?” Nick is pleased to hear he wasn’t just mooching around London by himself like a loser as he had started to think. “I had an accident. A pretty bad one. Look, I know this is going to sound weird, but—”

Nick takes a breath and begins to tell Gillian everything.

*

It’s just over a week later when Louis comes over to Nick’s. This time he’s empty-handed apart from a small plastic bag, his cheeks and hair wet from the rain.

“I thought I’d bring some things back.” Louis shoves the bag towards Nick. “You off out?”

“Yeah, obviously. I invited you over and then decided to go clubbing. In this.” Nick glances down at his bare feet, comfortable grey joggers and his _It’s Britney, Bitch_ t-shirt. “Did I usually go out like this when we were together?”

“You and those shirts of yours, who knows.” Louis shrugs, making no move to leave. “It might be a London thing.”

“I’ve got an update on that.” Nick steps to one side waving Louis into the hall. “Come in and have a cuppa and let me close the bloody door. Been freezing my tits off all day.”

“Me too.” Louis follows Nick into the kitchen, watching him make tea. “Don’t you want to know what’s in the bag?”

“Not sure.” Nick eyes it warily. As the kettle boils, he opens the bag carefully and takes out the contents. There are socks and underpants, washed and carefully folded. It reminds him again how Louis knows intimate things Nick can’t even vaguely remember. He puts them to one side, frowning at the soft jumper that he recognises as his own, a book about the history of pop music and a charger that won’t work on his new phone. It’s a sorry collection and it tells him nothing about the years between him and Louis.

“There’s not much. Most of our—my stuff’s here.” Louis looks uncomfortable and cold—his clothes still damp from walking in the rain. “I kept the presents you gave me.”

“You should. They were presents.” Nick rubs his jaw and hopes they were at least decent, what with him behaving like such a knob. “Do you want to get your stuff while you’re here?”

“Not tonight.” Louis wraps his arms around himself, his body shivering. “Can’t be bothered. Unless you want me to?”

“No.” Nick really doesn’t want Louis to take his things. He has a feeling the house would feel even emptier with all traces of Louis stripped away. He picks the jumper up from Louis’ pile of Nick’s belongings and hands it to him. “Put this on, will you? Before you get pneumonia.”

Louis eyes it warily but eventually yanks his t-shirt off and slips the jumper over his head. He leaves his wet t-shirt on the kitchen counter, facing Nick with a mutinous expression. The jumper looks good on him. The colours suit him way better than Nick and there’s something about the way the sleeves are just a little too long that makes Nick’s heart kick fondly.

“Is this the one I got weird about?” Nick touches the sleeve of the jumper gently, resisting the urge to use it to pull Louis closer.

“Yeah.” Louis’ voice is thick and hesitant. “I nicked it out of your wardrobe. Couldn’t wear one of those posh shirts of yours, could I?”

“You could have done.” Nick isn’t sure that’s true—apparently he’s the sort to have a meltdown over his boyfriend borrowing his jumper—but he likes to think he’s a generous soul when he’s not busy being a knob. “I don’t mind. Looks better on you, anyway.”

“Thanks.” Louis fiddles with the sleeve of the jumper, looking away. “Kettle’s boiled.”

Nick makes them both a piping hot mug of tea and remembers just how Louis likes it, which is something at least. 

“I found out more about this London trip.” Nick sits on a stool in the kitchen, blowing on his mug of tea to cool it down.

“You did?” Louis sounds wary. He’s probably not all that fond of Nick wanging on about London, all things considered. 

“Yeah.” Nick studies his mug with a frown, trying to think how to come clean to Louis. The conversation with Gillian helped fill in a lot of blanks. Although there’s still a lot missing, Nick at least has the basics. “I didn’t go to work at Radio One.”

“Oh.” Louis’ jaw tightens, a flash of anger crossing his features. “What the fuck did you go there for, then? Just to get away from me, I bet.”

“ _No_.” Nick shakes his head miserably because he doesn’t actually know that for certain. “I don’t think so, anyway.”

“Great.” Louis looks properly cross now. “I don’t know why I even bothered coming here.”

“Please just listen,” Nick pleads. “I applied for the internship and got through to the last round. They invited me to London to do a test at the BBC. I reckon I must’ve thought I was going to get the job and committed to getting a room for three months in a flat with someone called Gillian—she’s a writer.”

“I know who she is,” Louis says.

“And you didn't think to tell me I had a flatmate?” Nick rolls his eyes. “Thanks, pet.”

“I've had other things on my mind than London,” Louis grouses. “I told you about Henry. I'd have remembered to tell you about Gillian eventually. You said she writes for _The Guardian_.”

“She wrote for them once.” Nick winces, hating himself for telling so many half-truths. “I didn’t get the internship. It went to someone younger, fresh out of uni.”

“And you just stayed in London and _lied_?” Louis’ voice is tight.

“Looks like.” Nick can’t meet Louis’ eyes, his cheeks hot. “I told _everyone_ I was going to do that internship. You, Harry, Mum, even Big Boss Ben at Radio Yorkshire. Nobody here knows I didn't end up getting it, not even work. They gave me the time off because they thought it would be like a secondment. I only told Gillian because she came home when I got the news and found me drinking all her sherry and playing Mariah loud enough that she could hear it down the street.”

“Doesn't sound a bit like you.” Louis still sounds cross, but there's less of an edge to his voice. “Why wouldn't you have said anything?”

“Dead embarrassing, innit? Thinking I was going to be this brilliant radio DJ then not even getting the stupid job.”

“You’re already a brilliant radio DJ.” Louis' voice softens further. “You stupid idiot.”

Nick looks up at last. “I worked at a pub in Primrose Hill to pay the bills and the rent I promised Gillian, because I didn’t have any money from the internship I never got. That’s probably why it sounded like I was always out when you called. I was out. I was just serving the drinks, not buying them.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “When would you have time to go to parties with Henry Holland if you were working so much?”

“I met Henry a few times the first time I went to London.” Nick swallows around the lump in his throat. “I don’t know him well and we never stayed in touch. I might have seen him when I was there, but Gillian didn’t seem to think so. I probably just made it sound like we were chummy because I needed something to explain the noise in the background if you called when I was working.”

Louis frowns and finishes his tea, pushing the mug away. “The whole three months, did you just…make everything up? I didn’t even know you were still interviewing, you said you’d got the job by the time you went to London.”

“That's what I told everyone by the sound of things, including Gillian at first.” Nick shrugs. “She said I was too embarrassed to tell anyone else and I didn't want to waste the rent I'd signed up to pay. I deleted all my emails from Radio One the day they told me I hadn't got the job and went out the next day looking for bar work. I must have thought it was better to lie and pretend I was doing the internship, than to come back and say I fucked everything up.”

“You didn’t fuck everything up.” Louis studies Nick carefully, his brain clearly working quickly to process what Nick’s telling him. “You just didn’t get a job. Not the first time that’s happened to someone, mate. No one would have thought anything of it. They’d have been dead proud of you for getting so far in the first place.”

“You reckon?” Nick sighs, shaking his head. “I feel like a right twat. I just want to _remember_.” The toll of his conversation with Gillian and the realisation that’s he’s told everyone—Harry, his family, _Louis_ —about a brilliant internship he never had makes his stomach turn, his anxiety spiking as he thinks about telling the rest of them the truth. “How can I even tell anyone what happened when I'm still just guessing why I did it?”

Nick’s voice breaks and Louis sighs, moving off his stool and standing awkwardly in front of Nick. His hair is soft, his eyes bright and blue. There’s a scruff around his chin and he looks warm and lovely. Nick misses him. He misses him _so much_ and he can’t even remember why. He knows whatever he feels for Louis is bigger than a few months of flirting. He might not have his memories back, but his heart remembers.

“I told mam the caff was doing well.” Louis’ cheek works and he stuffs his hands into his pockets, looking away. “Put a load of money on credit card to get her and the girls nice presents the other year, like some flash businessman. _Tommo’s done good_ , I told her. _Don’t worry, Mam._ ”

“Isn’t it doing okay?” Nick looks at Louis, his voice quiet.

“Not expensive presents okay.” Louis finally looks at Nick. “Never told you that, mind. I didn’t want you to look at me like that.”Nick tries to change his expression but isn’t sure he manages it. Taking a breath he catches the sleeve of Louis’ jumper and pulls him closer. He doesn’t quite tug him into his arms, but it’s enough. Everything is warmer than it’s felt in a while.

“I probably wasn't paying enough attention. I was too busy telling you about my made-up job and made-up friends in fancy London to listen, I bet.”

“Yeah.” Louis laughs under his breath. “Wanker.”

“Massive wanker,” Nick agrees. 

“Just saying I know what it’s like to not want people see the cracks.” Louis takes a breath and then moves away, filling the kettle and putting it on again. “Want to watch the telly?”

Nick nods, even though Louis can’t see him.

“Yeah,” he says. The weight on his heart eases just a little. “Let’s.”

*

It’s late when they finish watching the usual Friday night television but Nick’s still wide awake, unable to stop himself from glancing at Louis over the course of the evening. He realises how much he’s missed seeing Louis as a friend, let alone anything else. He misses his trips to the café, the long nights chatting into the early hours of the morning and the trips to Leeds to see bands. He misses being able to imagine how things could go if he just reached over and pulled Louis closer. Not very well, he suspects now. Not after everything.

“It feels weird, thinking about the stuff you know about me when I can’t remember any of it,” Nick says when the quiet stretches on for too long. Harry’s voice reminds him not to make things awkward in that slow, Northern drawl of his, but Nick ignores it. “The stuff we did together.”

“Yeah.” Louis glances at Nick, his eyes dark. “I bet. You were alright at it, if you’re worried.”

“Alright?” Nick splutters indignantly. “Cheeky little shit.”

“Better than average on a good day.” Louis shrugs, a small smile playing around his lips. “I suppose.”

“ _Brilliant_.” Nick sits back with a huff, frowning. “Thanks a lot, Tomlinson.”

“Didn’t have much to compare it to, did I?” Louis wets his lips, looking ahead. 

Nick’s heart thuds in his chest and he stares at Louis. “It was your first time?”

“With another bloke.” Louis nods. “First time for all of it. Living here with you, coming out to the last few people that didn’t know. It’s better, now they do.”  
Nick remembers Louis coming out to him at the café during one of their long evening chats. That was when he started visiting more, when the friendship Nick so enjoyed shifted to something else. He remembers getting on the phone to Harry and talking at speed about Louis-The-Fit-Barista and the fact he might actually be into Nick after all. He wishes he could remember the rest of it.

“I wasn’t very nice to you in the end, was I?” Nick wishes he could take all the times he was a knob back. If only he knew enough of the past, he’d give everything to make it right between them again.

“Not very,” Louis replies. “I wasn’t very nice to you in the end, either. You were nice for most of it though. Dead nice. I reckon you were having a midlife crisis or summat. Who knows?”

“Not me,” Nick murmurs. “I miss you,” he says at last. His heart catches in his throat, his hands itching with the need to reach for Louis. “I miss all of it. Even the parts I don’t remember. The house seems emptier than it used to. No idea why.”

“Oh.” Louis looks surprised. He pushes a hand through his hair and gives Nick a sharp smile. “I’m easy to miss.”

“Yeah. You are.” Nick stretches out on the sofa, pillowing his hands behind his head so he can watch Louis. “Can you tell me about the good stuff?”

“If you like.” Louis pulls a face and considers Nick’s question. “Like I said, the sex was alright. Better than alright.” Louis meets Nick’s gaze, his voice gruff. “You knew what made me feel good.”

“I don’t anymore, do I?” Nick pulls a face. Louis is so lovely. “Don’t know much of anything.”

“You knew, even the first time.” Louis laughs but he looks wistful. “Took your time and stuff. Made it less weird.”

“It was weird?” Nick grins at Louis. “Careful. Flattery like that will go to my head.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Louis shifts closer. “You said it feels strange, the first time. It did, but in a good way in the end. I always knew you’d be kind. We didn’t argue when we were fucking.”

Nick sits up and closes the distance between them, Louis’ breath warm on his lips. “Did we argue a lot?”

“‘Course we did.” Louis snorts. “You’re a dickhead. Never argued much about serious things, though. Just stupid stuff like me tidying up and you leaving the door open when you went to the loo. We didn't have a proper fight until you started going on about London. I got scared and stupid. I was worrying about the caff and didn’t want to tell you. I started acting up because I was terrified of you running off and everything going to shit. It was rubbish.”

“We sound like a right pair.” Nick runs his fingers lightly over Louis’ leg. It feels safe, somehow. Familiar. “Could we have worked it out do you reckon?”

“Not sure.” Louis focuses on Nick’s hand, tracing patterns on his jeans. “Both too stubborn. If we’d been honest, maybe. You’d have had to get your coffee from somewhere.”

“I would,” Nick agrees. “Nowhere but Tommo’s would do.”

“Should have given you a loyalty card, mate.” Louis’ voice gets quiet. “You might have fucked off to London.”

“I doubt it,” Nick replies. “I don’t know for certain where my head was at, but I doubt it. Gillian said I spent the whole time pining for this place. Grass is always greener, I suppose.”

Louis looks up at Nick, his breath hitching. “Maybe you left something behind in London.”

“Just some unwashed pots and pans from the sounds of things. Gillian said there were no other blokes. I spent most of my time at the pub. It's probably why I hardly ever came back, I was working every shift I could get.” Nick studies Louis. “I’d say I left a lot more behind when I went down south to follow a half-baked dream.”

“Maybe.” Louis stands abruptly, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes. “It’s late. I need to go.”

“You don’t have to.” Nick follows Louis to the door and watches him pull on his trainers with shaking hands. “It’s raining still.”

“Is it?” Louis gives Nick a watery smile. “Think it stopped raining hours ago.”

“I heard we’re expecting storms.” Nick leans close to Louis, his hand against the door. “Might be dangerous outside.”

“Yeah, really dangerous.” Louis’ throat works and his voice cracks. “Don’t make me stay. I can’t.”

Nick moves away from the door and Louis, his heart dropping. He shakes his head, even as the thought of Louis leaving now physically hurts.

“I’m not going to trap you here, Louis. Don’t be soft. ‘Course you can leave.”

Louis’ throat bobs, his voice breaking. “What if I don’t want to leave?”

“Then stay.” Nick twists his hands together uselessly, trying to stop himself from reaching for Louis as much as he wants to. 

“Nick—” Louis breaks off and in one swift movement he’s in Nick’s arms, clutching onto him for dear life. “I miss you so fucking much. I loved you. I never told you because I’m not as embarrassing as you are with your notes and baking me a Pot Noodle cake for my birthday. But I did. I do.”

Under ordinary circumstances Nick would ask _what the fuck is a Pot Noodle cake and how the hell did I bake it?_ but he’s too busy being stunned into silence by Louis’ declaration.

_l loved you. I did. I do._

“I love you too,” Nick whispers. There’s something there, hazy and unformed but he knows with absolute certainty he was in love with Louis and whatever else happened that never changed. “Don’t ask me how I know, but I do.”

“I know you did.” Louis holds on tighter. “You put it in a card. You made Pig and Stinky sign it with their paws. Smelt like dog shit.”

“Romantic.” Nick’s voice is gruff. He tightens his arms around Louis. Lovely, warm Louis who leaves him breathless. “I made you a cake out of Pot Noodles?”

“Don’t be disgusting, Nicholas.” Louis laughs through his sniffles. “It was a chocolate cake. Like a Colin the Caterpillar. You just made it look like a Pot Noodle with icing or summat. You got really into watching old episodes of Bake Off.”

“Was it good?” Nick tightens his hold on Louis, who laughs again.

“Brilliant. It looked like it said Dot Moodle, but it tasted dead good. Nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“I’m sorry I don’t remember,” Nick whispers. He strokes a hand through Louis’ hair, and he pulls back just enough that they can look at one another. “I don’t remember the cake, the card or London. But I remember you.”

“Nick—” Louis stops again and then surges close. 

The kiss is achingly familiar even though it should feel like the first. Nick responds with fervour, his heart pounding in his chest. Louis feels so good in his arms, so perfect. Everything else is white noise, but not Louis. Somewhere in the fog there’s a clarity that comes with Louis being close, with kissing like this. It seems so right, the way they slot together. Louis barrels them back into the living room after kicking his trainers off again. It’s messy and uncoordinated, banging into walls and Louis’ pointy elbows in his side, but it’s the best thing that’s happened to Nick since the accident. The _best_.

“Your leg.” Louis pulls back as Nick drops onto the sofa with a yelp. “Sorry, I—”

“Forget it.” Nick yanks Louis down and slides his hands under Louis’ jumper, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin. “You can ride me if it’s a problem.”

“Lazy fucker.” Louis laughs but he kisses Nick soundly, indicating he doesn’t mind the idea at all.

“Although—” Nick isn’t sure he can do much of anything with Louis kissing him like this, let alone last long to go upstairs to grab the condoms and lube.

“I know.” Louis kisses Nick again fiercely, his mouth hot and demanding. “Hasn’t been anyone since you. Wanking isn’t half as good.”

“I should hope not.” Nick bites back a groan as Louis pushes his hands into Nick's joggers, watching him shove them down. After one, blissful moment, Louis’ mouth is on him. Nick clutches onto the cushions of the sofa, bucking into Louis’ mouth with a hiss. 

It’s so good. Mouth-watering, stomach clenching sort of good. Louis seems to know Nick’s body, swallowing him down and sucking him with practiced hunger. Nick twists his hand into Louis’ hair and lets pleasure overwhelm him. He knows it won’t be long, but he’s not even embarrassed by it. Louis seems determined to bring Nick to completion as quickly as he can. It doesn’t take much—watching Louis, the warm channel of his mouth, the mussed up hair, the flush and puff of his cheeks. With an _nngh_ Nick gives Louis a garbled warning before his climax pulses through him, sharp and white-hot.

There’s a moment where they stare at one another, stunned. His head pounds and Nick thinks for one, brilliant, bright minute that a deliciously good blowjob has driven all his memories back. When he scrambles around his mind however, the hope fades. It brings back _something_ but not everything. Not a memory, not exactly. More like the feeling from before, the one that made Nick say _I love you_ in a way he knew to be true. There's nothing specific, no sudden realisation. Instead it brings back a sense of Louis, a knowledge _we’ve done this before_.

Nick reaches for Louis and pulls him close. They sink into another brilliant, salty kiss and Nick opens Louis’ trousers. He can't get enough of the way Louis arches and bucks, the force of his kisses and the catch of his breath. The feeling of him, hard and wanting in Nick’s hand is perfection. When Nick looks at Louis, his eyes are bright, hopeful and the way he smiles at Nick leaves his heart aching. 

He focuses on Louis’ pleasure and chases away his strange thoughts, closing his eyes and kissing Louis soundly until they’re both wrecked and sated.

*

“Will you stay over?” They find their way into Nick’s bed somehow, the dogs snuffling around on the floor after whining at the door to come inside. Nick keeps a tight hold of Louis, not wanting him to leave.

“Yeah.” Louis’ chest rises and falls, a small smile on his lips. “Better make me a nice brekkie, though. None of that egg white omelette shit your mate Harry’s into.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Pizza,” Louis offers with a yawn. “Pizza or chicken nuggets.”

Nick’s pretty sure he’s joking. Not even Louis would have pizza for breakfast. He’s glad he still has the Rice Krispies in.

“I had a weird dream about pizza in the hospy,” Nick says sleepily. “Stormzy doing a mash-up of Vossi Bop and that one from _Frozen_.”

“Nick.” Louis sits up in bed so suddenly, it yanks the duvet off Nick. 

“Oi! It’s bloody freezing, you menace.” Nick pulls the duvet and Louis back where they can both keep him warm. 

“ _Nick_.” Louis shoves him. “That Stormzy you’re on about—”

“—Vossi Bop?”

“Yeah.” Louis looks excited. “That’s from this year. You remembered a song from _this year_.”

“Maybe it was on the radio?” Nick’s heart quickens and he stares at Louis. “I must have heard it before I woke up.”

“At the hospital?” Louis snorts. “No way. There wasn’t a radio in your room. Besides, the telly was on most of the time and Eileen likes the news. They were always banging on about Brexit and you didn’t remember that. I’d have remembered them playing Stormzy, I was there all the time.”

Louis stops, cheeks flushing.

“You were, were you?” Nick brushes Louis’ hair from his face and smiles softly. “Thanks.”

Louis huffs. “Eileen was upset. I was there for her, not you.”

“I bet.” Nick nods, seriously. He grins and leans in, kissing Louis. “Maybe there’s hope for these memories of mine after all.”

“Can’t believe you remembered Stormzy and not me.” Louis glares at Nick. “You’re such a dickhead.”

Nick offers to give Louis a thorough fucking to apologise. 

It seems to do the trick.

*

When Nick opens the door to Tommo’s—ignoring the _Closed_ sign—his heart hammers in his chest. The place is empty, a small light from the kitchen casting a glow over the tables which are set for the next morning’s breakfast. A familiar song filters through the café and it makes Nick’s chest tight as the strains of Patsy Cline’s ‘I Can’t Forget You’ linger in the small space.

“Patsy Cline?” Nick leans against the doorframe, watching as Louis scrubs down the fryer. Even scrubbing a fryer, Louis still makes Nick’s heart kick.

“I thought I should listen to this song your Aunty Karen loves so much.” Louis scrubs the fryer more vigorously. “Don’t go on about it.”

“As if I would.” Nick plans to, because he’s annoying like that. For now, he has more important news. “They’re back. My memories.”

“What?” Louis turns, chucking his tea towel over his shoulder. His expression is caught somewhere between excitement and trepidation. He swallows. “All of them?”

“Every single one. It was never about a jumper,” Nick says. He moves towards Louis and plucks the tea towel from his shoulder, dropping it on the surface. “I knew even I couldn’t have been that much of a knob.”

“Then what was it?” Louis’ expression turns tight and pinched as he eyes Nick warily.

“Just me, being a dickhead. I didn’t want you to find out about London.” 

“You don’t break up with someone over that,” Louis scoffs. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I don’t think it would have been for good.” Nick winces, not proud of the way he spoke to Louis at the end but relieved at least there were no other men, no other lies. “I know it wouldn't have been. I had a brilliant plan to apologise.”

Nick's memories came back slowly when he fell asleep trying to read an old article in _The Times_ with Pig snoozing beside him. Like the Stormzy track, the memories started out as dreams and by the time Nick woke up he remembered everything. He’s glad he had Gillian and Louis to fill in so many missing bits over the last month, since he and Louis started spending time together again. It made him less panicky, less overwhelmed. Instead of hitting him like a golf ball in the head, getting his memories back felt like slowly kicking his way towards the light on the water’s surface, pushing up to breath in a lungful of air. The missing bits just gave Nick the clarity he needed—absolute confirmation of what was going through his head during the three months in London and what came after with Louis. Most of it he'd been able to put together just by knowing himself, but he's glad it's clear again. The feelings for Louis are clear too. As bright as the memories from before the Patsy Cline years. There's no doubt whatsoever in Nick's mind that he's arse over elbow in love with Louis Tomlinson. Always has been, probably always will be.

When Nick's head started to pound as he remembered everything from Brexit to the horrible, ridiculous argument with Louis, he called his mum who picked him up and drove him to the hospital. As she chattered on, Nick watched the world go by. _This old town of mine_. The small high street gave him a rush of affection, the terraced houses, the Greggs, the Tesco and little Tommo’s sign waving at them, bright and homely. He almost made Eileen stop so they could pick up Louis, but she’s a demon for going through the lights on amber. As soon as he had confirmation from the doctors that everything was okay, Nick asked to be dropped off at the caff to see Louis. He’s fairly sure Eileen had a tear in her eye.

“Your stupid head.” Louis interrupts Nick’s thoughts. He reaches a hand to touch Nick’s hair, then drops it as if he isn’t sure whether he’s allowed to touch Nick anymore. 

“Stupid,” Nick agrees. He pulls Louis close and gives him a deep, searching kiss. He pours all the missing years into it as Patsy Cline lilts and falls around them. When he pulls back, they’re both breathless. “Got any of that voddy left?”

“A bit.” Louis still looks wary, but happier than before. He grabs a bottle from the shelf and ushers Nick into the main café area where they take a seat. “Why would you dump me instead of just telling me about London? I still don't get what happened that night we went to see the band.”

Nick downs a small shot of vodka before answering, the liquor warming a familiar path down his throat.

“You’d been going around telling your mates your boyfriend was a big deal at Radio One. Niall kept saying how proud you were, how cool you thought it was. I was going to tell you the truth that night, but I couldn’t. Not after that.”

“So you broke up with me instead?” Louis rolls his eyes and takes his own shot. “Twat.”

“Something like that.” Nick studies Louis seriously. “I never knew you hated me talking about London so much. You only told me that after I lost my memory. I thought you were dead pleased about the internship, then Niall made it sound like we were off to live in Mayfair together or summat.”

“I couldn’t tell Nialler and Payno my boyfriend loved London more than me,” Louis mutters. “I was trying to make it sound like I was happy for you. I was being supportive.”

“I’m sorry,” Nick says. He’s bored of talking about London, about the small details that never mattered have as much as what Louis and Nick had. One night they'll go through it all and he'll tell Louis anything he needs to know. But not tonight. Tonight's for the big stuff. “I never forgot you. Not really. How could I?”

When it comes to Louis the memories don’t feel as weighty and overwhelming as Nick thought they might. It’s as though they’ve always been there, just hovering on the surface. Nick’s heart always remembered Louis, even if his brain didn’t have the specifics to hand. The emptiness of his house, the way kissing Louis felt so _right_ , the ache in his heart when Louis left the hospital.

“It’s okay.” Louis’ cheeks turn pink. “You’ll have to bake me another Pot Noodle cake to make up for it, now you remember what an idiot you were.”

“Not likely,” Nick says. “Took me forever, that did. You just got to see the end results. I was picking green fondant out of my quiff for days. I’ll buy you a Colin the Caterpillar instead if you want. How’s that?”

“It’ll do.” Louis flashes Nick a quick grin. “How’s the head?”

“Not bad.” Nick reaches across the table and takes Louis’ hand, squeezing it. “Move in with me,” he says, quietly. “I don’t want to let you go again and all your stuff's there anyway. I'm rubbish on my own. Things are miles better when you're around.”

“No fancy London?” Louis sounds uncertain, his voice rough.

“No fancy London,” Nick says. “This town is more than big enough for me, I reckon. Besides, London’s no fun if it doesn’t have you.”

Louis mutters something about Nick being like _one of them soppy films_ but he doesn’t seem too put out by it. 

“Suppose I could.” Louis looks at Nick, his brow furrowed. “I’d sell me flat and everything?”

“Yeah.” Nick squeezes Louis’ hands. “No point paying a mortgage if you’re never there. The cash might help. You could get a new fryer, so fixing this one doesn't keep you here after hours all the time.”

“I’d be able to paint, too.” Louis looks around the café, a flicker of excitement crossing his features. “There’s loads that needs doing. I just haven’t had—” he stops.

“The money. I know.” Nick stands and pulls Louis to his feet, brushing his hair off his forehead and giving him a fond smile. “You’ll have to talk to me about stuff like that if we’re living together.”

Louis snorts. “So will you, mate.”

“I know.” Nick wraps his arms around Louis. “They’re taking me back at Radio Yorkshire.”

“I should think so, too.” Louis sounds fierce and protective, as if he really does think Nick’s the best radio presenter around. Nick loves him so much. He's going to tell Louis every day, with cards and as many ridiculous cakes as he has the time to bake. He should get balloons or something. “The BBC don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Nick says, sincerely. “Couldn’t give a toss anymore.” He brushes his thumb to Louis’ cheek, swallowing around a lump in his throat. “I had all these dreams as a kid. Sometimes I think I could have done more. I get scared of growing up and seeing the people I love get older too. I want to be twenty forever.”

“Nick.” Louis’ voice is fond. “You’re a long way past twenty.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” Nick grins, the lost weight of secret fears leaving him light and unburdened. He makes a mental note to ask his mum for wrinkle cream for Christmas. “I’ll still be, you know, _me_. I might have a panic every now and then.”

“I know.” Louis meets Nick’s grin with one of his own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Nick loses himself in a hot, searching kiss that leaves him wondering if it's against Food Hygiene Regulations to have a quickie in the kitchen. Eventually, they break apart.

“We'd have got here in the end,” Nick says. “Even without the crash. I was on my way to get you a puppy from one of those rescue centers, to say sorry for being a dickhead.”

“Maybe I wouldn't have listened, not at first.” Louis' jaw works. “Seeing you in the hospy was shit. Life's too short, isn't it? I was so miserable that month after you woke up. It made me think what it would be like without you.”

Quieter, probably.” Nick laughs.

“Loads quieter. Too quiet.” Louis raises his eyebrows at Nick, his somber look slipping away as his excitement builds. “You were really going to get me a dog of my own? Like Pig and Stinky?”

“They're yours too, if you'll have them,” Nick says. “But yeah. I was going to get you one that could be all yours from the start. He's been there for a while, nobody wanted him for some reason. Scruffy little thing with mad hair. He's scrappy and scared of the dark, but the woman on the phone told me he's a softy, proper gentle little thing and good with other dogs, even old girls like Pig.”

“Sounds like those people that didn't want him have no taste. Can we go and see if he's still there tomorrow? I'll drive.”

“If you like.” Nick's pleased with himself for guessing what Louis' response might be. “I called and checked if he's still there on my way to the caff. Nobody's given him a home yet.”

“Maybe he's been waiting for us to get our act together, like a good lad,” Louis suggests. It's impossible not to be endeared by the beaming smile on his face and the way he's already fallen in love with his rescue pup without having seen so much as a picture. “I'll get Lottie to cover for me here. We'll give him a good home. The best”

Louis pulls away from Nick and moves to the small CD player. He starts the Patsy Cline song from the beginning and gets back in the circle of Nick’s arms, leaning in for another kiss. 

They cling together in the dim light and outside the Tommo’s sign creaks in the winter breeze, bright under the light of the silvery moon.


End file.
